


Hard Up

by fckwmslf



Category: Shameless - Fandom
Genre: F/F, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:59:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7487121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckwmslf/pseuds/fckwmslf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still, Karen keeps the part of her brain that isn't preoccupied with vying for all the attention and money she can get on Mandy's well being. Not like anyone else has offered to keep track of the 19 year old menace, so Karen supposes she'll happily oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

   Clack. Clack. Clack.

   The heels of her silver sequin knee high boots hit the main floor heavily one step at a time, all eyes on her.

   Purple and blue lights flood the club, her skin, reflecting off of her 99 cent cherry flavored lip gloss. She sways gracefully from side to side to the beat of the bass, grabbing the pole from high up to steady herself as she slides down ever so slowly as middle aged men of all kinds gawk at her, all on their toes to catch a glimpse of her cunt as she spreads her knees wide, hips rolling.

   She licks her lips, eyes hooded, and holds the pole firmly as she slides back up with her back arched, spinning around.

   Her eyes flicker to a familiar black haired girl to her right, moving in a similar fashion as she herself on the adjoining riser. The girl's skin shines pale and milky from the main light, her body shimmering with the cheap glitter that one of the other girls must have helped her slather herself up with, all across her chest and shoulders.

   The girl moves in a suddenly slow, but deliberate manner, and Karen _knows_ who she's preforming for, and it's not any of the greasy fucks that have stuffed themselves like fucking sardines in this place 'cause they're so hard up to see a barely legal girl prance around in her underwear- but then again, Karen's not complaining.

   She's gotta make a fucking living somehow.

   Their eyes lock, and Karen decides then that Mandy is too far up her own ass if she thinks that that wink and those hips are gonna be the source of any screw up on Karen's part. She rolls her eyes briefly, catching the glint of the glitter high on one of Mandy's cheek bones. She knows that shit's gonna give her one hell of a rash, but Karen will be there, spreading the Cortizone on thick and lending a fairly annoyed but endeared ear to the other girl as she bitches and moans.

   She's careful to keep up the persona she puts on as soon as she steps on stage, the one that has men straining against their zippers. She's Bubblegum Pop, painfully seductive and unmerciful, dripping with sleaze. God knows she and Mandy need all the fucking tips they can get, so she keeps dancing, expertly collecting bills that get tossed her way till the end of her song.

   She's always got Mandy in her line of sight though, making sure she's okay.

   Karen wouldn't admit it, but she's got fuck all without the girl, so she keeps an eye on her, ready to whip out the butterfly knife stuffed snugly against the inside of her ankle in her boot in case the bonehead security that backs this poor excuse of a club aren't there fast enough to stop shit from going south if one of the customers gets smart.

  Karen also knows Mandy would be mortally offended if she knew of her girlfriends paranoia, all,

   "I can fuckin' take care of myself, alright? Just fuck off!"

   Still, Karen keeps the part of her brain that isn't preoccupied with vying for all the attention and money she can get on Mandy's well being. Not like anyone else has offered to keep track of the 19 year old menace, so Karen supposes she'll happily oblige. She owes her anyway. 

  

* * *

  

   "Why's there never any fucking food in this shithole?" Mandy quips, hip cocked as she stands with her arm resting over the top of the grimy fridge door, glaring at the contents, or, lack thereof.

   Karen burrows further into the blanket she's got wrapped around her, the scratchy fabric of the couch rubbing against the skin of her back uncomfortably, but she's too tired to move, or even think. They both had a long shift that night and had just gotten home not even an hour ago. She hears Mandy go back to tinkering in the kitchen. Cabinet doors are being slammed, drawers being shut with more force than necessary, the mismatched silver inside rattling.

   She sighs and pulls the covers over her head. "Mandy?" she calls as loud as she can through the thick blanket.

   From the sound of it, it seems Mandy hadn't heard her at all, 'cause she's still stomping around in there like a fucking rhino. Karen peeks her head out to see a more than frustrated Mandy Milkovich kick the side of a cabinet with her bare foot. The blonde winces and wills for the storm to pass. Mandy grabs her foot, falling back against the counter, face contorted in pain. 

  "See?! I just wanted to come home, get undressed, eat, fuck, then sleep, but no, God for-fucking-bid.." 

   She kicks again at the cabinet. Karen knows she's on a roll when the other girl starts gesturing wildly with her arms, motioning around their piece of shit kitchen.

  "We both work fucking non-stop, but still, here we are, never anything in the fridge with barely enough to go in for rent! We've got fuck all! we came to New York to get _away_ from all that kind of shit, that kind of life. Jesus, it's been two years!" 

   Karen just keeps her mouth shut, waiting for Mandy to run out of gas.

   "But I guess it's just with us 'till the goddamn grave, right?" Mandy's face is red, breath coming out in short puffs. "South Side forever?"

  Karen tries to stay silent for a little longer, but caves after a few seconds, reaching her arms out like a kid toward Mandy, making grabby hands. "Could you just shut up and cuddle me? I'm fuckin' freezing over here." She doesn't mean to sound so pathetic, but Mandy's eyes soften and she uncrosses her arms, so Karen counts it as a win.

   The side of Mandy's mouth curls up after a beat. "Fuckin' New York winters, huh?"

   Karen giggles lightly.

   "Yeah," she hums as Mandy squeezes between her and the back of the couch, face buried in the blonde girls neck and tossing the blanket around 'till it's draped over the both of them. "Fuckin' New York winters.."

   Karen sighs comfortably, then, after a few minutes, stretches out so she's pressed more firmly against the other girl, fingers brushing along Mandy's arm.

   "So," She whispers against Mandy's cheek.

   "You still up for that fuck?"

   Mandy cracks an eye open, a smirk already forming on her face.

   "Hell yeah." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a little past four when Ian finally sees Mickey trudging along the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, smoke billowing out from his nose making him look like an angry bull or some shit, hand reaching up to adjust his cigarette to the other side of his mouth.

   Ian slumps against the uneven, concrete wall of the dump of an apartment building behind him, flicking the end of his cigarette. He's waiting for Mickey to get back. He was usually back by now, 3:25 a.m. Ian hums as he pulls a little harder on his Marlboro Red.

   Yeah, that sounded about right.

   Ian considers it for a second, then shakes his head, dismissing his doubt immediately. It was Thursday; Mickey gets off work at the club at three on Thursdays, so he should be here-  

   At least, Ian fucking hoped he'd be there, otherwise he'd be sleeping out in the park off Cady street, which was not fuckin' happening. 

   He wasn't planning on getting knifed tonight. 

   It was really fucking cold, too. Mickey, the bastard, probably knew Ian was waiting out like this for him. For fucks sake, Ian blows him on the daily, he should at least give Ian the courtesy of being here on time.

   He wishes he could just wait 'till Mick's shift was over at the club again, like he used to, but no; Mickey said it looked pretty fucking suspicious with Ian there when he's there and not when he's not all the time, giving him free drinks. Ian tried to convince him that no one gave a shit, seriously, but to no avail.

   Ian also kind of wishes Mickey would just give him his own damn key already. Ian's not insane enough to believe that mickey'd actually agree. It'd be too much of a commitment, it'd make Ian more than just a random lay, and Mickey doesn't want that, or to acknowledge what's happening between them at all.

   So, Ian just continues to smoke, pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself. 

   It's a little past four when Ian finally sees Mickey trudging along the sidewalk, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, smoke billowing out from his nose making him look like an angry bull or some shit, hand reaching up to adjust his cigarette to the other side of his mouth. Ian tosses his own and crosses his arms.

   "Took you long enough."

   Mickey doesn't look up, not when he pauses to suck on his last bit of nicotine, not even when he's inside, already making his trek up the stairs 'cause the shitty elevator's out-of-order again. Ian just follows like a lost puppy.  

   "Mickey," Ian says, for lack of anything better to say, getting brushed off again.

   So, it's gonna be like this then.

   When they reach the apartment, Mickey struggles with his keys, the metal clinking annoyingly. Ian sighs and just takes them, opening the door himself without any trouble. Mickey looks at him then, and rolls his eyes.

   "Didn't ask you to come over, man. You just like assuming shit."

   Ian grabs Mickey's shoulder, pulling him against himself as they cross the threshold. 

   "Yeah, yeah; you know you'd be fuckin' disappointed if wasn't here to get your dick wet." 

   Mickey raises an eyebrow. "Think you're the only one I can get that from, huh?"

   Mickey had meant to throw Ian off, but the red heads got this weirdly intense look in his eyes and Mickey knows he's taken this as some sort of fucked up challenge. Of course, why wouldn't he? Mickey quickly dislodges himself, moving into the hall.

   "Look, dude, fucking-" He starts, but Ian grabs him by the shoulders, shoving him face first into his own goddamn bedroom door.

   "No," Ian's breathing hotly against the back of his neck, moving to slowly press all along Mickey's back.

   "I think i'm the only one who knows how to give you what you want, exactly the way you want it."

   Mickey tries not to shudder, but  _fuck_. "Oh yeah?"

   He peeks over his shoulder, tongue poking into the corner of his mouth, brows raised, the trademark Mickey Milkovich sex face. 

   Ian grins, reaching around to grab Mickey's dick firmly through his jeans. "Yeah."

   And then.. and then Mickey's done screwing around. He's twisting the knob and they both stumble forward, Ian's hands heavy on his sides. Mickey shrugs off his coat, throwing it off to the side somewhere, and clamors onto the bed ungracefully, not giving a shit about how stupid he looks. "Fuck Mickey," Ian's voice is rough and suddenly he's being flipped onto his back, shirt shoved up to his pits, Ian already working on his belt and zipper. 

   He groans, trying to get a fucking grip. "Oh, fuck. Ian-Ian,"

   Jesus Christ, he's acting like a little bitch. 

   Ian smirks as he pulls Mickey's pants off of his legs, then his cheap ass boxers, pushing Mickey's legs apart to rest over his shoulders. He shuffles down 'till he's got a face full of Mickey's crotch, and shit, Mickey's trying to get a whole different kind of grip here, fingers bunching in the off-white sheets, struggling for purchase.

   Ian's licking and sucking, tongue trailing the length of Mickey's dick and Mickey can't seem to catch his fucking breath. Ian wraps his arms around the backs of Mickey's thighs, one hand splayed across his stomach, the other holding Mickey's hip in place because then he's got his mouth around the head and suddenly he's going _down,_  and Mickey almost fucking chokes. 

   "O-oh shit,"

   Ian's looking at him with those smug fucking eyes, not even moving, just swallowing around Mickey, the hand on his stomach is- Jesus- _petting_ him, brushing over his nipple and pushing against the underside of his ribs just as he comes back up, then down. Over and over again. Mickey can't stop the whine that rips from his throat, he just _can't._

He's not even conscious of anything that's happening 'cause the next thing he knows, he's got his hand in Ian's hair, the red strands contrasting strongly against his pale fingers, the word 'fuck' peeking through.

   Ian's pulling off his dick with a pop, trailing the underside with his lips, hand replacing where his mouth had been, pumping him slowly. Mickey's desperately pushing his hips up, arching his back. He doesn't even care how he looks right now, he just needs to _come_ , so fucking bad. Their eyes meet, then Ian's licking over his balls, spit everywhere. All between Mickey's legs, smeared on Ian's face.  _Fuck_. Ian sucks hard and Mickey keens, throwing his head back. He keeps going, but breaks off, sitting up a little. he's kissing the inside of Mickey's thigh, all the way up to the side of his knee, and Mickey's about to comment 'bout how fucking queer it is when Ian leans down and sucks the head of his cock in again, effectively silencing the 19 year old.

   "Look so fucking good Mickey." Ian says, when he pulls up again, voice wrecked. He's jerking Mickey off now, picking up the pace and rhythm, twisting his wrist just like  _that_. He goes back to kissing the inside of Mickey's knee, then sucking. Mickey's sure there'll be bruises. 

   "So good for me."

   Mickey wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but he can't talk with the way Ian's pulling on his dick like that. Also, he'd never admit it, but the words are making his face heat up, knots coiling in his stomach and it's so good,  _so fuckin' good._  

   He thrusts his hips up, in time with Ian, reaching up above his head, biting down on his lip  _so hard_.

   "Ian-" He pants. "Ian, Ian-"

   Ian shushes him, the hand that was on his hip trailing down his side 'till he's grabbing the underside of Mickey's knee, pushing it up against his chest. He leans over Mickey, left hand still jerking him slowly. Mickey's panting so fucking hard and Ian's maneuvering around so he can shove two of his fingers into Mickey's mouth.

   Mickey just takes it, sucking in earnest. Spits dribbling out of the corners of his mouth, his lips covered. Ian groans, eyes zeroed in on Mickey's mouth.

   "Jesus fuck," He whispers.

   Mickey moans back. He imagines he must look pretty fucking filthy right now, especially with Ian looking at him like that. 

   Ian pulls his fingers out, slowly, a string of saliva connecting from Mickey's bottom lip and Ian fucking blanks the fuck out. Mickey can't help but smile with the cockiest grin he can manage. 

   "Gallagher, get with the damn program before I finish myself off."

   Ian licks his lips before meeting Mickey's eyes, a wide, bright smile spreading across his face. He settles back on his knees, letting Mickey's leg fall to the side. 

   "Little shit," Ian grumbles, the corners of his lips still turned up.

   "Yeah? Keep fucking talkin' like that and i'm gonna-" Mickey's cut off when Ian shoves his wet fingers against his hole.

   Mickey can't stop the little noises that leave his throat as Ian rubs around his rim, left hand squeezing at the base of his cock, can't help the grunt when Ian finally- _finally_ -shoves a finger inside.

   And it's so good. He doesn't know what the fuck's wrong with him; it's just a handjob and some fingers thrown in (pun intended), but it's,  _Jesus fucking Christ._

Ian's starts moving his hand faster, twisting his wrist to find that spot.

   "F-fuck, Ian, just like that." He groans, grinding his hips down in circles on Ian's fingers, and Ian obliges, keeping his hand right where Mickey told him and leaning to take Mickey's dick back into his mouth.

   To put it lightly, Mickey's fucking losing it.

   His hand tangles back into Ian's hair, thrusting into the red heads mouth and onto his long, perfect fucking fingers. Mickey tries to hide the fact that he's shuddering, that his legs feel like fucking jello, 'cause that's just fucking gay, seriously, and he knows he's failing miserably. He's pushing and taking everything Ian has to offer, moaning so loud, fuckin' _crying out_ , Christ. 

   And he keeps catching Ian giving him these long looks from down there on his dick, looks packed full of meaning that Mickey doesn't even want to begin to understand, and it's all becoming too much. He's too fucking oversensitive from all this shit. He grips the sheets tightly, pulling Ian closer with the leg that's still draped over his shoulder, shoving his hips down one last time and then he's coming,  _hard._

  He thinks he kind of blacks out, the only thing really registering is Ian's hand on his thigh, rubbing soothingly as he jerks and twitches.

  After a minute, he opens his eyes slowly, his whole body loose and relaxed. 

  Of course, Ian's down there, come smeared across his mouth, grinning that totally fucking idiotic, genuine grin of his that just makes Mickey feel light headed.

  Mickey sighs as Ian licks whatever remaining off his lips.

  Guess he is kind of glad Ian decided to crash. 


End file.
